The Girl Who Grew Up
by J.C. Irving
Summary: After the Pevensie siblings are killed in a train accident,Susan all but gives up on life when a chance encounter brings her face-to-face with an old friend…the only one who can save Susan before she looses sight of Narnia forever. T for safety
1. Preview

_Because of my horrible workload, I'm trying to go back and finish my other stories, this fanfic will be review based. If I get reviews to continue, I shall…HOWEVER should I not get any this story will be canned until further notice (and by then we'll all be 80 years old)._

_So the moral of the story is: REVIEW PLEASE_

_Think of this as a teaser trailer! Thanks everyone!_

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_Seasons, like people, change without warning. You know it will happen…everybody does. But secretly you push it to the back of your mind, hoping this last beautiful spring will never bend to the iron will of the winter snows. But it always does._

_I tried my hardest to fight it. I dug my fingers in far deeper than Peter ever did and never quite let go. I hated Aslan with all my heart. I hated Narnia and, eventually, my siblings, for never letting go of their childish desires. It was time they grew up and moved on with life._

_And in the end, the great and powerful land of Narnia, the magnificent and wondrous Aslan who always came to save them, abandoned them to fate. They died. _

_I was alone. I was bitter, I was angry. It was easy to withdraw, to escape the bitter world and live in my own mind, where I could control the dangers within, where Aslan and Narnia couldn't find me, couldn't make me remember. No one understood me, no one was patient enough to bring me out of the cocoon of anguish and pain that I had willingly locked myself in._

_Then I met Moira. _

Susan's shoulders shuddered as she waited at the train station, the cold radiating from inside her body outwards, chilling the soft light that filtered through flaming branches. Her face was blank, her body on autopilot, moving along the boards without thinking. Only the echoing battle cry of the approaching train could break her resolve, and break it it did, smashing through the hollow dam that had kept her eyes dry for so long. There, alone, waiting for a phantom train, Susan snapped. It was a pitiful sight, the glorious Queen of Narnia reduced to sobs on a decaying country platform, devoid of all hope and broken of spirit.

She would not have broken so easily had she known she was being watched…


	2. The Handkerchief

_Seasons, like people, change without warning. You know it will happen…everybody does. But secretly you push it to the back of your mind, hoping this last beautiful spring will never bend to the iron will of the winter snows. But it always does._

_I tried my hardest to fight it. I dug my fingers in far deeper than Peter ever did and never quite let go. I hated Aslan with all my heart. I hated Narnia and, eventually, my siblings, for never letting go of their childish desires. It was time they grew up and moved on with life._

_And in the end, the great and powerful land of Narnia, the magnificent and wondrous Aslan who always came to save them, abandoned them to fate. They died. _

_I was alone. I was bitter, I was angry. It was easy to withdraw, to escape the bitter world and live in my own mind, where I could control the dangers within, where Aslan and Narnia couldn't find me, couldn't make me remember. No one understood me, no one was patient enough to bring me out of the cocoon of anguish and pain that I had willingly locked myself in._

_Then I met Moira. _

Susan's shoulders shuddered as she waited at the train station, the cold radiating from inside her body outwards, chilling the soft light that filtered through flaming branches. Her face was blank, her body on autopilot, moving along the boards without thinking. Only the echoing battle cry of the approaching train could break her resolve, and break it did, smashing through the hollow dam that had kept her eyes dry for so long. There, alone, waiting for a phantom train, Susan snapped. It was a pitiful sight, the glorious Queen of Narnia reduced to sobs on a decaying country platform, devoid of all hope and broken of spirit.

She had promised herself since the news had come that she wouldn't cry. She was grown-up, now, and grown-ups didn't burst into tears on train platforms, even if they were relatively alone. Sniffling, she dabbed the tears from her eyes, the soft white kerchief wafting as a banned of surrender in the playful wind. Suddenly it was snatched away and floated far from Susan's grasping hands. She ran after the kerchief as a child chases a butterfly or a kite, knowing she would never grasp it but still trying, trying.

But the train! While she chased the little kerchief, it had slunk silently into the platform, and now it let loose with the feline roar of the hunt, its belly full and ready to resume the chase. With renewed urgency Susan ran toward the platform, snatching up her luggage and leaping aboard the beast with un-grown-up-like speed just as it began to leave. She found her own compartment, alone, and proceeded to lay the musty suitcase underneath the seat cushion. Glancing back at the receding platform as if to ensure she had truly left, Susan released a mute sigh and relaxed.

A sudden flicker near the upper-right hand corner of the window caught her eye and she watched with mixed awe and fear as her lost handkerchief appeared, dancing lazily in the breeze. It did not move on, nor did it fall behind, but seemed to float on its own wind, untouched by the outer world. Susan reached, entranced, toward the window, and placed her hand against the sun-kissed glass, trying to grasp it.

For a moment she believed she might just catch it. She silently willed herself to touch the kerchief, to welcome the magic that kept it aloft. Her mind turned to the stories. _Come on, Sue! You can't catch me! _She heard Lucy's voice, tinkling with the laughter of a thousand silver bells..._Come on! I've got someone you've all got to meet! Come on Peter, Ed! _Suddenly her brothers were there, too. _Are you sure we're welcome, Lu?_ _ Who cares, Peter? Let's get out of the cold!_ Dear, dear Peter, poor, frozen Edmund. How he'd wanted to get out of the snow. Snow? Yes…_Come __on__, Susan! You've got to meet him! You've got to meet Mr. Tumnus!_

It shattered. The name burst inside her head like a massive icicle, freezing cold and sharper than a rapier. One by on the voices disappeared, pierced by pain and anger. Her palm balled into a fist, slammed the glass. "What am I doing?" It was gone, all gone, just like her siblings, into that imaginary world they cared so much about, leaving her here, with an angry train and an impossible floating handkerchief. Silently she cursed that place, cursed the foolish dreams that had enslaved her siblings, cursed magic of all kind. Then she slowly burst into tears again as the little white flag lingered just a moment more before floating away on the wind.


	3. The Letter

_Thank you to all my reviewers so far, you guys have been great! A little early Christmas present for you all!_

The conductor had come by to check her ticket and now Susan sat, legs tucked under her, on the train seat, applying a generous amount of lipstick. Of course the lipstick was merely a distraction—there wasn't any need for beauty where she was going. There never was, in the country, any real concern for someone's looks, perhaps because estates were so large that one never saw the end of one's own lawn, much less another human being. Fidgeting, she put the little tube away in her small purse, sifting through the contents to find her compact. Instead her fingers brushed up against The Letter.

Hesitantly she pulled the cream envelope out and stared at it, eyes darting again to the window. _Don't be silly,_ she thought to herself. _Why, you're almost as bad as Wendy, waiting for Peter Pan to come flying back in the window._ She tried reminding herself there was no such thing as Peter Pan or Wendy and that her handkerchief was probably halfway to London by now, but fact of the matter remained that The Letter was still in her hands, refusing to be put down. With an exasperated sigh Susan leaned back against the seat and opened the envelope, bracing herself not to cry, for she had cried twice today already and that was quite enough for the week. She was better, she didn't need to cry anymore.

However tears came before she even began to read the letter for the umpteenth time. She knew it by heart, now, and each stroke of the pen was enough to bring a fresh well of sorrow. She traced her siblings' names with her eyes, immortalized in ink and paper, and laid her head in her hands, mentally re-reading the letter as the train moved on through the sunshine.

_To The Pevensie Family: Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy:_

_It is with great regret that I write to you, for the news I bear is not of the pleasant kind. The professor is dead. A week or so after the evening party he held with your friends Eustace and Jill, he came up with the absurd idea of seeing them off on the train. You have, no doubt, already heard the news of what happened afterward. I am afraid that, although he was not killed in the accident, he was immediately afterwards hit by a passing motor-car and, having lost his will to live, died in hospital soon after. _

_It is not my wish to remain on the estate, indeed by the time you receive this letter I will be long gone. Enclosed is the set of house-keys accompanied with the Professor's dearest wish that you children take care of the estate and live on the grounds. He realized how many memories you children had there, and, having left no debts, desires you to keep it and cherish it, and pass it on when you are gone. Since he objected to selling the house, I ask that you children, at least, will hire someone to look after it, if you are not inclined to do so yourself._

_I wish you the greatest health, my dears, and fond wishes during this tumulus time. I remember when you first came to the estate and the magic you found there, and it is my hope that, even in the midst of tragedy, you shall find it again. _

_Postscript: I forgot to mention the small gardener's cottage that lies to the west of the gardens—it is unoccupied but fully furnished, should you find the house to drafty for your liking. It has never been locked (some eccentricity of the Professor), and I ask that you do not attempt to lock it for there is no key. Dearest wishes, children, and fondest love._

_McCready_

Of course the letter had not arrived in time. It had, in fact, arrived some years after the accident, the excuse being that Susan moved so often it was almost impossible to find her. But here she was, 4 years later, seeing her siblings fresh before her eyes, still living and well in the mind of Ms. McCready. It had taken her almost two months to get the courage to even open the letter, and now she knew that the estate was probably falling apart.

It didn't matter, really. She would fix it up, sell it off, and move on with life, never to see the estate, or, indeed, the countryside, ever again. It was the least painful way to deal with things, to bustle them on their way like the many men who had speedily stumbled into her life and just as speedily stepped out again. Life seemed to have abandoned her, but she refused to recognize it, not going to any funerals, not even to her siblings'.

She knew she ought to have, but it was too painful. Everyone else thought her callous and unjust, a living disgrace to the Pevensie family. Did they not realize that to go to the funeral was a greater disgrace? That all along, the boys and the clothes and the shoes had just been a shallow mask, an attempt to fill the chasm in her heart? If her siblings could see her now…no. They were gone. Everything was gone, over.

She hastily refolded the letter and shoved it back in the envelope, trembling hands unable to steady themselves on memory. She put the letter away, holding the key in her palms and waited for the train to finally stop.


End file.
